


Like A Snake You Can Slide

by lightningwaltz



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-11
Updated: 2012-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-31 00:13:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/337759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningwaltz/pseuds/lightningwaltz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Dornishwoman, even the sweet ones, have sharp edges.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Written for Porn Battle XIII</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like A Snake You Can Slide

After arriving in King's Landing, it takes Ellaria and Oberyn far too long to be left to their own devices. Like a snake slowly shedding skin, they must abandon the Imp and his men, the Dornish retinue, and then finally the Red Keep's curious and wide-eyed servants.

When the door closes behind the last of their observers, Oberyn hears Ellaria let out one of her noncommittal laughs. "Oh, dear. You know, the way they talk in the Hellholt, you'd think any Dornishman would turn to ice the instant he crosses the Marches. Today I almost wonder if they were right." 

Oberyn leans on the wall, looking out the window. It's a generous view- no doubt a calculated maneuver on the part of the Queen's father- and the afternoon sun has painted the world a brilliant Lannister gold. The heart of the city beats below that radiant vener; it teems with the starved and sinking citizens of King's Landing. 

This had been Elia's domain once. Here, his sister and her children had lived, laughed, and died. 

Oberyn feels like a cyvasse piece that has landed in a monumentally strategic location. He wants to obey Doran's commands, give his infinitely patient brother one less person to mourn. All the same, he feels a harsh opportunity beckoning to him from the distance, and his mind is racing towards it. 

He turns to look at Ellaria, and she's already undoing her formal hairstyle. It now falls over her shoulders, dark and enticing, curling from being bound and tied up all day. She combs her fingers through her tresses, and raises an eyebrow at him. Waiting, thoughtful. 

"And are you in danger of freezing?" Oberyn asks at last, and crosses the room to help her take off her jewelry. He's seen this before; Ellaria is adventurous and inquisitive, but every so often she seems to chafe at the restrictions of propriety. He had sensed it in her from the start, all those years ago, and that buried spark of dissatisfaction had drawn him to her. She could be exceptionally charming and agreeable, far more so than Oberyn, in truth, but she rarely bowed to convention or polite fictions. In a lover that was worth more than the gold of Casterly Rock. 

"No, but-" and she is cut off as Oberyn spontaneously kisses her. Ellaria giggles, lightly slaps at his shoulders, and Oberyn draws back for the moment. "No. The weather is agreeable, actually." Her voice drops to a mummer's whisper. "In fact, it's nice to not feel as though the sun might roast me alive. Just for a change of pace." 

"Now _that's_ treasonous."

"Just don't lock me up for it."

"What if you ask me nicely?"

Ellaria shakes her head, smirking a bit. She cups his face in her hands and returns his kiss from moments before. "Sunspear though... I love it much more than King's Landing. Perhaps it's unfair, seeing as I've been here for less than a day. Maybe time will improve my impressions."

Oberyn arms slide to the small of her back. "Hardly. I spent a fortnight here for Elia's nuptials, and I can promise you I hated the city far more by the last day than on the first." 

Ellaria's eyes are downcast, forehead creased from thinking. "Tyrion Lannister was very... diplomatic today."

"Such faint praise." He undoes the ties of her dress. 

"That wasn't praise, love. Merely observation." 

They've been taking small steps towards the bed, and they soon topple onto it. Oberyn's resting above her, holding himself up with one arm. Ellaria absentmindedly slips her hands under his shirt, drawing her fingers over his back. 

"The Tyrells were far more amusing," Oberyn adds, switching to safer subjects. He kisses and licks at her neck, while Ellaria makes small, satisfied sounds. One of her feet runs up and down his leg. She smells a bit like blood oranges, and Oberyn thinks of home. 

"Oh, yes," Ellaria sighs, "yes, Mace was nearly apoplectic. I wonder where Willas was, though." With that she helps him remove his shirt entirely. Ellaria can't wonder _too_ much because she leans up and presses her lips against his. They kiss for some time, in the easy fashion of a pair that's been together for years. Oberyn loves the feeling of her breasts beneath his hands, loves everything about her.

"Willas," Oberyn says, when they've stopped to catch their breaths, "told me in a letter that he was very nearly married to Sansa Stark." 

Ellaria's head is tilted to the side, her eyes narrowed in lust. "I see. His presence here would have been impolitic. Too bad, I liked him." 

"Not as impolitic as the two of us, Ellaria." He sucks on one of her nipples, while his fingers work their way down her small clothes.

Ellaria shouts- no coy gasps for her- and thrusts her hips forward. Oberyn presses against her clit, wondering how she can sound so damn articulate even when she's incoherent. 

"I've been surprisingly virtuous the whole time I've been here," she says, between gasps. "My reputation is much more exciting than reality." 

Oberyn laughs against her collar bone. "Alright, let's take care of that." 

When he enters her, Ellaria makes a satisfied moan and wraps her legs around his back, pulling Oberyn in deeper. He holds both of her arms up above her head, and her breasts brush against his chest. She bites his neck, almost to the point of pain, but Oberyn revels in it. Dornishwoman, even the sweet ones, have sharp edges. 

Later, he doesn't recall who climaxed first, but he does remember lying together in bed afterwards. The sunset's a brilliant red, and his arm is drapped over Ellaria's abdomen. 

"It almost looks like Dorne out there," Ellaria muses, satisfaction in her voice.

Oberyn can't shake the feeling that he is destined to die in this city, much like his sister once did. All the same, for now they are at peace. Ellaria is correct. The sky's beauty is akin to something from his home kingdom, but she outshines even that.


End file.
